Bury Me In All My Favorite Colors
by Artistic Tales
Summary: WW2 has taken the lives of many, and ruined the lives of many more. Here is the story of broken soldiers, trying desperately to find their place in life, during what could be their final moments. (1P 2P MILD SHIPPING)


"So, how do you handle it? You've been on the front lines for a while now."

The question hung loosely in the air. Matthew was much more used to silence then speaking, but...this kid seemed pretty insistent on continuing to ask him questions. "Well, for one thing...we're in the middle of a war eh. Don't you have something better to do then ask me questions?"

The ruddy brown haired guy would shake his head. "Not really. The guns have stopped, so I thought I'd just ask you a few things to pass the time. You've gone on the frontlines more than five times, right? Why the hell do you put yourself through that? I bet hell is nicer then this pit."

Matthew would snort, tilting his head up. It was a nice frosty day, no gunfire. Even though he was usually one to keep quiet, he'd nod his head. "Man are the devil." He'd make the response casually with a shrug. Pit was dry, weather was clear...rats were still everywhere, but in war terms...the weather was quite nice. Too nice. Too quiet. He doubted anyone wasn't weary of attack. The top dog in the trench would March across, checking on the soldiers. The old man would stop near a guy who had a cigarette in his mouth. With a harsh yell, he'd put his hand out. 'No smokes on the battlefield rookie.'

Matthew would stop watching the scene play out. His dull violet optics travelling to the kid who seemed to be pretty enthusiastic about everything. Matthew huffed. Out of all of them, the was probably the guy who wasn't scared of enemy attack.

"I heard a rumor Matt. Our shift on the front lines might end today."

A rumor? The troops were really out of the loop here, weren't they. Still, the idea of a beer sounded nice. Some bear, and a nice day getting dressed up for a taste of the 'Normal life.' "So, how do you manage to keep so collected throughout the whole war? I hear most people go crazy after their third time on the frontlines. Why haven't you? Don't you want to go back home to your family?"

Matthew would tilt his gaze back to the soldier, shrugging. "I have nothing to go back to. No family, nothin'. I doubt people will remember me when I'm gone. I guess I'm doing this because it's the most heroic thing I'm ever going to do. If you'd call manslaughter heroic."

The silence that followed his remark was to be expected. The younger soldier putting a hand on his chin, nodding. "Hey, I won't forget you."

A small laugh would leave Matts lips. That meant something, he supposed. Stretching out against the trench, he'd raise his hands over his head with a loud yawn. Stretching out his stiff joints. The loud cracks leaving his body causing some of the soldiers to laugh in the background. "Eh Mattie! You better stop going to the front lines. It sounds like you're an old man!" The kid behind him would wrap a hand around Matts neck, hanging off of him while laughing. "You better believe he does! Act's like it too, yes he does!"

Matthew was next to laugh, shrugging the other guy off of his back. "Shut up Shaun. You know everyone's aged at least fifty years within the last week!"  
The laughter that filed the clearing was quite disarming. You'd almost forget you were in the middle of a war, if it wasn't for the rotting bodies. "Aged as much as the wine I'm going to be drinking once we get back to the town for our break!"Carl had some playing cards in his hands, his friends in a circle around him, as they all played war with the cards. Carl was winning. "You sods better get over here and join in the game. We're going to be kissing this ditch goodbye the moment the bus arrives." Matthew watched as the ruddy brown haired boy got up from beside him to join in the game, the promise of a nice conversation, and a some smokes all the motivation he needed.

Matthew would get up next, scratching at his uniform as he took a seat. "First thing I'm doing is getting these god forsaken bugs out of my uniform."  
Carl would divey out the cards, until everyone had their own stack. There were about five people playing the game, besides him and..Oliver, if he was correct."We're all getting the vermin out of our suits. I like to keep the blood in my body, personally." "Can't argue with that, you damn hoser." A bit more laughter would leave the crowd. "One...two, three...War!" Oliver would call, flipping his card over, looking over at Matthew. The Canadian placed down a five. Enough to win him all the cards in the pile. He'd Put them in a neat pile beside his current deck. "This game is definitely like the real deal when you think about it. Even if you win, what you get isn't worth half the effort you put Iin." Carl would say the words simply as his one was taken by Matthew. Frederick would be next to speak up, chuckling. "Well, You're not going to get me' puttin' out m' best cards. If that' be what you're implying kid." "Carl just wants to get into everyone's head, as usual eh." Matthew would chuckle as the banter continued.

"One, two three...War!" Oliver would pull out his ace. Matthew had put out a king. He'd snort as it was taken away. "So Mattie, does the big dog of the trench have any anecdote's to tell us? The Canadian would shrug as he fiddled with his bandages a little more. "Yesterday Gordon stole some cigs off the captain. Been hoggin' em in his stash since that point eh."

A bout of laughter would leave the crowd. "Bloody hell, that sounds just like him don't it?" Carl would place another card down as 'war' was called out again. This time he lost his cards to Mattie again, who didn't seem to think much of it. "Damn right it does. He's a full blown bandit. I see him looting corpses all the time. As if it matters. What worth does gold have to the value of blood well spent?" More laughter. "A'right, I'll admit, that guy has some screws loose. But I suspect he's been in the frontlines more then all of us." Matthew would shift his cards over, keeping his gaze on the others. Oliver would pull on his ponytail, snorting. "Well he doesn't look like it. But you sure do." Fredrick would nod, his gaze pretty calm, despite the smirk on his mouth. "People could tell you where a Canadian from a mile away. Y' got a real strong accent' too boy." "I always here that I've got a strong accent. Never understood what that was aboot eh."Carl would snort. "Well, we're all men from different countries. I swear to god I'd be making wisecracks about this if I didn't get to know you all so much."

'One...Two...three...War!'

* * *

Matthew would brush his long strawberry hair out of his face, legs stretched across his seat as the bus rolled away from the front lines. " Oi! Been long enough. Can't wait to get back to the town. I have a date with all the pretty girls, mate." "All of em? I didn't know there were a lot of blind ladies there.""Oh, Matt. Something under your skin?' Oliver would question. The Canadian would rub a hand over his stubble with a small shrug. Finally he'd lean back into his seat. "I just want to think that there's things in life that are more important than beer and sex." "Well, I don't think there is. You should go and enjoy these little pleasures Matt." "Maybe he's queer." "It's just not in my interests. It's not going to do the worlds any favors. Besides, I've already got my eyes on a girl. Sweet little thing too. To sweet for that." Oliver would pull off his military hat, sticking his head out of the window, waving it in the wind. "Sweet, sweet freedom!" "Oliver, get your ass back in your seat."Matthew would laugh as the guy swung his hat around, other soldiers following along, waving their hats out the window. Matthew himself would stay seated, arms crossed over his lap. "My goal while I'm here is to eat as much as I can. I feel like skin and bone." Oliver would poke his head back into the bus as it trucked through the streets, people cheering at the soldiers as they pulled in, as if they were hero's. "You don't look it. Look like you were built to do hard labor.""And that didn't exactly do me any favors." He'd respond with a small laugh as the bus pulled to a stop on the street, soldiers getting out one at a time. Cheering filling the air. But of course...this far into the war, the crowd started to pull apart. People going back to their business. Whatever that was during the war. Most of the wives had their children, looking for their family who where currently in the battle.

Was a sad sight, since many of them didn't come back.

Carl would get off of the bus behind him, Oliver next. The man would stay pretty close to the Canadian, a smile on his face. "So we're going to head to the bar next. You want to come? We can get all dressed up for your lady later. "...Heh. I don't see why not." Oliver would move up beside the two, hanging even closer to the tall Canadian. Made him feel pretty uncomfortable. He really would of demanded personal space, but...Oliver didn't really mean any harm. Matthew didn't want to seem prickly.

The sun would shine in the sky, glittering down on the trio as the bus pulled out with a new stack of soldiers, the ones who were going to the front lines next. All of them seemed to be drained, one was even crying. The Canadian would wave goodbye to the bus, his own expression somewhat stressed as they left. "I bid them Adieu." Oliver would follow his gaze the leaving bus, a small frown forming on his features. "I'm going to try avoiding the trenches for as long as possible. Holy sh!t did it suck." Matthew would look over at the kid, shrugging. "You got lucky while you were there. It was a lot better than usual."

Rain, blood covering him as he shot a German soldier down, in front of his comrades. Nothing but a scowl on his features as he shot as many as he could down.

"I remember when they tried to gas us. Bloody cowards." Oliver seemed to be a little more quiet now, but he'd still look over at the two of them from time to time. Eventually he'd nod. That made sense. Of course, that the war wasn't always that calm. There were calm times, and there were much more rough times. The brown haired teenager would gesture to the bar, a small smile on his face now. "All this talking about the war won't change sh!t. Lets go get some beer."  
That seemed to make Matthew smile. He couldn't agree more. He needed one right about now. Carl himself would walk the bar first, fumbling for his cigarettes. He'd offer one to Matthew. The Canadian of course, would take it. A small smile on his face. Carl seemed a bit hesitant when looking at Oliver. As if he was about to say 'Are you old enough?' Of course, he didn't. He just offered it to the teenager, a smile on his face. Matthew himself didn't do much with the cigarette, taking a single drag off of it, exhaling it with little to no relief from the thoughts stirring in his head. Oliver would sit at the counter, waving to the others. "Soldiers drink free! That's pretty nifty." Matthew would sit beside the other, nodding his head quite casually. He'd mumble the simple words of, "I agree." Under his breath. The bartender would look over at the soldiers, a small smile on his face. "Welcome back boys!" The bartender would say next, a smile on his chubby cheeks, red from the chill of outside. He was quite the upbeat little guy. "The usual, for all three of us." Canada would nod at Carls response, watching as the bartender got the drinks ready. Sliding them across the counter to all of them.

"Free beer, one of the little pleasures in life." "Preach." Carl would tag in with Oliver. Matthew himself would drink back the beer, nodding his head as he blew some smoke out of his mouth from the cigarette. "For a week without the war."Matthew would say casually, a smile on his face as he lifted the glass up for a toast. Oliver seemed more then eager, lifting up his glass. Carl would follow next. "Cheers you drunken bastards!" The teen would announce, chugging back a bit of the drink. Matthew would look over at him, smirking. Of course, it would become a small laugh. "So, Mattie boy...you going to return to the frontlines? You've done more than enough for the war." Matthew would turn his gaze over, shaking his head. "It's the only place I belong now. The war is my life. I don't think I'd fit in the real world anymore." "Are you saying you intend to die in battle?""Depends. I'm a man without a mission." Oliver would cup his hands over the beer, nodding his head. "You feel lost." "More so than usual eh."

The ringing of the door would draw his attention. It was Frederic and Gordon. Frederick seemed to have a young woman beside him. "Slippery, those two." Carl would say, taking a puff of his cigarette as he turned his head to the two men."Slippery, but occupied." The Canadian would finish his drink, getting a second one. White foam bubbling at the top of the drink. "That's going to be me by the end of the week!" Carl would say next, thumping his half empty beer glass on the counter. Oliver jumped at the noise. His own reaction slightly delayed. Matthew himself would raise an eyebrow, laughing. "Alcohol always seems to make a man more confident." "You can be damn sure it does!" Carl would scan the bar for any lonely maiden. Of course, Oliver would point, a smile on his face. "Look, that one looks lonely!" Matthew would snort. That was the bartenders daughter. Many had tried, many had failed to swoon her. "After she was widowed, she swore never to get in an affair with a man in the war." "Well Looks like I'm going to change that." Oliver would silently cheer the drunken soldier on as he walked over to the girl, speaking with her.

"This is going to be interesting eh." "You can be damn sure it will be." Oliver would add in. The bartender himself was just shining cups, not paying much attention to the situation at hand. Matthew would drink back some of his own beer.

"So, lass...you're daddy's the bartender, ain't he?" Matthew would watch from the corner of his eye. Spinning around on his stool, he'd take he'd another drink of the beer. He wasn't a light weight, nor an alcoholic. Yet. Nothing was really going on in his head besides his murders in the war replaying again and again. Eventually, Oliver would tug on the Canadians rolled up sleeve, pointing to a young maiden, one who had just ran into the bar. "That the cutie you where talkin' about?" Matthew would nod his head, genuine surprise on his features. "I-I'm looking for Matthew Williams!"  
He'd put a hand on his cheek, smiling softly. She was a sweet thing, wasn't she? Oliver himself was rolling drunk already, making little jokes that made no sense, laughing as if he was the funniest comedian on the planet. Standing up, he'd move across the bar, a subtle smile on his features. "Pleasure lil' lady. How can I help you?" She'd gesture for him to follow her outside. "I-I need to talk to you." He'd blush softly, nodding his head as he left the building, leaning against it's old brick wall. "Why'd you need to call me out here all of a sudden?"The woman would get onto her toes, so she was tall enough to put a small kiss on his mouth. Matthew himself seemed to go rigid. Putting a hand on his mouth. As far as he knew, she'd never given him more than a second glance...what was, this about all of a sudden? Well, he wasn't complaining.

* * *

The Canadian would raise out of bed, stretching. The woman he came to know as 'Amilea' Looking up at him with sweet blue baby blue eyes. A gaze he'd remember for the rest of his life. Reaching over from the bedside, he'd throw a white shirt on. This all had been really sudden. He was still in his muddy military uniform when he was called aside, his hair still a mess. Getting up and stretching, he'd look back to the woman. A subtle, but sad smile on her face. "...You mind telling me, what the hell that was?" He wasn't sober when he was pulled aside, and was dealing with a bad hangover right now. Mind still fuzzy. "My family is moving out of town. The war has destroyed all the business in town...And..." The woman had a thick French accent, so at times Matthew missed what she said. "I knew this was going to be my last chance to see you." "...Ain't that kind of you."

He didn't plan on doing anything like that. And...maybe a part of him was sad when he heard her reasoning. Maybe he was hoping for a little more than just that. He was just as irritated as he was sad. He'd been taken advantage of the day he left the front lines, and was drunk as hell.

Then again, it was his own fault. "So...where are you going from here? When your week here is over?" The woman was perched at the side of the bed, looking at him questioningly. "Back to the frontlines." He'd mutter softly, picking up his folded uniform from the chair, pulling his hair out it's ponytail, brushing it out, before putting it back up. Throwing a pair of pants on. While he was putting his pants back on, she'd look up at him, a small frown on her features. "Oh...Oh Mattie, do you really want to go back?" "I've got nowhere else to go." Getting his reading glasses from the nightstand, he'd look back at her as she put a hand on his shoulder. Just before he left the door. When he turned back his gaze to meet her, it was nothing short of sad. Vacant, tired. "W-will I ever see you again? Before the end of the week?" He'd look down at his uniform thoughtfully, shaking his head slowly. As if he was unsure. Eventually, it became more confident. "No, no you won't."

She'd part her lips, as if she was about to say something along the lines of 'But-'He'd put his glasses in his pocket, a small frown on his features. "Don't play me for a fool darling. I know you've got husband who's currently in the war. And I ain't gonna replace him while he's gone." Closing the door behind him gently, he'd leave the house. Back onto the busy streets. Pulling out a cigarette as he walked, the Canadian would sigh softly. The war owned him now.

He belonged to the war. And he didn't think he'd ever fit into the normal life again. So, as much as half of his heart wanted to stay with that woman...(Who he hardly knew.) He knew nothing would come out of it. "Matthew? Mon petit enfant?" He'd turn his head behind him, to see the all too familiar guy. "Francis. It's been a while, hasn't it?" A smile would form on his face, though it quickly turned into something more emotional. He would have been crying actually, if he was still capable of tears. The war had hardened him beyond belief. "Goodness, you look horrible. Come on, come. We're fixing your hair up right now."

"That's really not necessary," "It's more than necessary! If you looked half as good as me, I'm sure you'd feel just as happy as well." Matt would roll his eyes, a small ground leaving his mouth as he was moved the barbershop. "...Matthew, is something the matter?" The male would finally question, he looked worried. "I'm feeling fine." The Canadian would respond casually, before being ushered into a barber chair. "You're honestly filthy." The male would say next, crossing his arms. "I swear, I have no idea what I'm going to do with you."

"You don't need to do anything with me. I'm feeling just fine." The Canadian would shrug casually.

* * *

"Hush up! Honestly. I can't have my clients looking so...so mediocre." "Well, Looks don't exactly win you the war." Francis would shake his head, as if he was dealing with an idiot. "You're not fighting the war right now. You're taking a break. You have a whole week to relax. A-And who knows...it might just be your last..." Matthew would look over his shoulder at the other. "...And?"

He didn't understand why Francis had to be so dead set on how he looked all the time. It wasn't like he was trying to draw attention to himself or anything. "And I want you to look nice during it!" The Canadian would shrug. "Alright then, just don't take to long...wait, no wait one moment. What the hell are you going to do?" He'd watch the Frenchman get some products out. "I'm going to start with getting the lice out of your hair." "For what? The next few hours? You know the pillows in this town are filled with it, right?" Francis would huff, somewhat irritated. "Honestly Matthieu, are you going to argue with everything I say?" The Canadian would shrug loosely. "Goodness..you were such a sweet boy too...this horrible war has taken him away from me..." "God dammit old man! Stop talking as if I'm already dead." "o-old man?" He'd groom the Canadians long hair with a sigh. "I'm only 26..." For being involved in the war, that was pretty old. He knew the blond man had fought in the war as well, at some point. He'd left the battle to work in the town after a while. When there was an opportunity to do so. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude Francis. I'm just...stressed." As the other roughly got the tangles out of his hair, he wouldn't give any sign that it hurt. "I noticed. You look tired." He'd nod simply. Pulling out one of the magazines from the table beside the chair, he'd read it casually. "Did you ever find that boy?" Matthew would shrug casually. "The American, oui?" "No, and I gave up looking. Probably dead." Matthew would rub the top of his head as it was hit with the brush. "God...what was that for?" "Honestly, don't take a death so lightly! You're honestly the last person I'd expect to say something like that."

"...Well, I want to save myself the disappointment."

"Mmm...what did they do to you during the war? I wish you where never a part of it." "It's not like I have a family back home anyways. At least I'm doing something with my life like this." "You've got me, mon petit." Matthew would rub his face, grumbling. Francis was being...as hard to communicate with as ever. "Thanks, that means something." "I remember when I first met you, in the training camp. You didn't seem to show much potential as a soldier. Too polite, and soft spoken. Now look at you." "That's a compliment, right? Please tell me that's a compliment." Francis would wash his hair in the sink, shrugging. "I'm not sure yet Matthieu...I'm not sure." Matthew would laugh softly. That was fair enough. A quick movement would catch his attention from the corner of his eye. Someone running. Fast. Jolting up from his seat, he'd get up quickly, picking up his bag, and looking out of the door. The person looked like they were running for their life. "W-Whats gotten into you? You've gotten water everywhere!" The canadian would turn around to face the other with a sheepish smile. "I-I'm sorry eh, I've got to do something." Matthew would wave goodbye, dashing out of the door. Francis was next to move up to the door as Matthew ran after the mysterious figure. A single palm against the glass. With a small sigh, he'd let his palm slide down the surface. "Good heavens, that boy sure is something."

* * *

Running down the street, Matthew would follow the previously running guy. Other people would jump out of the way. People walking down the sidewalk yelling 'Watch it!' As he pushed them aside. Matthew's main response was 'Sorry!'

During his run, he didn't really need to stop for breath. His lungs burned by the time he finally stopped his sprint, putting his hand against the wall for a quick breath. He wasn't what you would call a sprinter. Whoever was running sure was though. They didn't seem to plan on stopping either. "Wait dammit! Why the hell are you running...?" The words weren't said to anyone but himself. The person he was chasing long gone. Still, he was pretty stubborn. He wouldn't give up that easily-  
"Matt man, hows it goin'?" The Canadian would lift his head up from the ground, stopping himself from looking so damn exhausted. "Oh, hey." It was Jason. Jason and Francis. "Francis, Jason." The tanned soldier would cross his arms over his chest with a small grunt. "That's it? 'Oh hey'? Seriously?" "Still avoiding actually fighting the war?" Francis would pull his hair out of his face, shrugging in a way that could only be dismissive. "You callin' me a coward?""….I'm not sure yet. Just saying most soldiers actually go to the front lines, at least once." "Even someone as fabulous as moi had to go at one point,""You know, I'm kind of busy right now-" "Matthieu, why did you just run out like that? I wasn't even done sprucing you up!" Matthew would sigh, putting a hand on his face as the two pestered him. He didn't have time for this. He was trying to figure out who the hell that guy was, and why the hell they where acting so suspicious.  
"You look pretty stressed out man." "You don't say." "Honestly, you're worrying everyone with your antisocial behavior." "...Antisocial?" "Can you damn hosers give me a second! I can't even hear myself think." "Yo, Francis, we pissed off moose boy." "Shut up you-you american! He's trying to-"

Matthew had left as the two bickered. He needed to figure this out. Of course, he eventually found himself in the slums. Where all the beat soldiers went to stir up trouble. He walked pretty slowly at first, alert. He had the guy memorized. Photographic memory of them. He knew that...the moment the runner showed up, he'd recognize them. Probably. (he could be pretty forgetful.) Of course...he heard something. A loud crash. The Canadian was pretty relaxed as a man was flung through the bar window, landing on the pavement with a loud 'Thwak.'Drunken bastards. The sickening smell of alcohol would flood into the streets. He wasn't sure if he was going to intervene. No reason to. It could be cracked down to him not having any f#cks left to give.  
"Mattie! Matt, Matt. Look. They just f#cked up the bar." Jason would run up beside the guy, hooking an arm over his shoulder. "Want to go f#ck some sh!t up?" "Why the hell are you following me?" Jason would respond with a shrug. "I just thought we got along well is all."

Matthew was slightly curious as what happened to Francis, but he wouldn't question. He was thankful to only have to deal with one idiot at a time. Entering the bar through the broken window, he'd snort looking out at all the chaos. There were people fighting. Guys knocked out cold. A bartender trying to get everyone to break up the fight. Matthew would look for some familiar faces. None could be found. None besides Oliver, who was hiding under a table. The usual. "Is this your idea of a good time?" He'd ask simply, turning to Jason. The American would nod his head furiously, punching into one of the bars display cases, and pulling out a baseball bat. "Hell f#cking yes this is!" Trophies would crash to the floor. "Was that necessary?" Matthew would pull out a cigarette, leaning against the wall casually as Jason unleashed hell to the bar fighters. Matt actually kept tally. One down, two down. Finally someone grabbed his friend by the shirt collar, lifting him off of the ground. Matthew would watch through puffs of smoke. Then something got his attention. "Jones, can you here me? Alfred?"

Alfred.


End file.
